Positano
by Pidraya
Summary: A week after taking a bullet in Naples, Gibbs enjoys some downtime in Positano with Jenny. A story set in 1999.
1. Chapter 1

_**Hotel Pupetto**_

_**Positano, Italy**_

_**Late morning on February 5th, 1999**_

"Sarge."

"Not happenin'," he growled.

But he had that look on his face which meant he was enjoying this as much as she was.

"How about … redhead_?_"

"It isn't red."

"It is _sometimes_," she argued.

"Is not."

"You've never seen him up close and personal when he is."

"It's not a girl."

"It's not an _it,_ either."

When he made a dismissive sound, she slapped him on the forearm.

"And now he's offended."

Gibbs rolled his eyes and gave himself a few languid strokes.

"Happy _now_?"

The petulant silence was short lived.

"It's decided then. _Red Scuttles_," she said as she moved closer with renewed vigour.

His eyes widened in disbelief.

"He doesn't _scuttle_."

"Oh he scuttles, Jethro. Want a demonstration?"

The anticipation of what he would feel the moment her fingertips brushed him was enough to prove her point.

"See ... " she said animatedly. "He scuttles."

"Do you one better," he mumbled into her ear as he pinned her beneath him. "SF. _Semper Fi_."

Jenny smiled as she acquiesced - because only Jethro would think of using something that open to interpretation – but looked up sharply when the smile on his face turned into a wince.

"Jethro?"

"It's nothing .."

Jen pushed him gently onto his back and looked intently at the area over his left hip which was covered up.

"I'm fine, Jen."

She looked impassively at him for a few seconds and then angled her head to look at the bedside clock. Swallowing compulsively as she realized that it was time to medicate Jethro's wound. Fighting back against the prickle of fear clawing at the back of her throat, she swung her legs out of bed. She couldn't manage upbeat, but with great effort kept her voice level as she spoke.

"Get ready for poking and prodding."

Jethro mumbled something about being able to take care of himself, but she was already embracing the refuge the bathroom offered.

As she opened the medicine cabinet over the basin, the panicky feeling in her stomach flared up again.

No matter how hard she tried, every time she looked at the wound, paralyzing dread and fear rose up.

For the first few days, Jethro had been pretty out of it; no small thanks to the heavy duty drugs Ducky had stashed into the first aid kit he had given her. But overnight Jethro had started to wean himself off them. He'd been pretty alert all morning and she knew he was going to be able to see right through her.

She fumbled with the first aid kit, and the scissors tumbled out and clattered to a standstill on the tile floor.

Jen stared at them for a moment, and then clamped her hand over her mouth as a small mewl escaped.

Gibbs lay on his back .. enjoying the view of the water through the metal railing on the balcony outside. Severe stormy weather was predicted sometime in the next twenty-four hours, but there was no sign of it yet. Dust motes danced in the pale winter sun, and he was content to lie there with nothing greater on his mind than -

A small crash from the direction of the bathroom made him turn his head sharply towards the door.

"Jen?" he called. When there was no reply he tried again. "Jen? Everything okay?"

Something which sounded suspiciously like a suppressed sob floated through the air, and when he again got no answer from Jenny he raised himself from the bed and made his way slowly over to the door separating him from her.

"Jenny?" He knocked once before entering - and the sight of her stopped him in his tracks.

Leaning her head against the wall tiles, she was obviously trying hard not to make any sounds as she cried.

He knew without having to ask that this had everything to do with him and his wound. She could be reliving the nightmare in the Czech Republic every time she looked at the wound, his mind supplied. But perhaps, he thought with a sinking feeling in his stomach, looking after him this way way disgusted her and she was trying to conceal the fact from him.

"I can do it myself, Jen," he said gently as he reached out to touch her shoulder.

Jen looked up at him with a stricken expression, and swiped furiously at her eyes with the heel of her hand; clearly mortified at being caught crying.

"No, I've got it Jethro," she said as she scooped everything up in her arms and headed back to the bedroom.

"Jen .." he grabbed her arm just as she had lowered all the items onto the bed. "You don't have to do this if it makes you feel bad."

There was something about the way he said it that made her look into his eyes; something she had avoided in her exit from the bathroom. And in an instant she realized that he had this all wrong.

"Oh God, no. No." She took his face between her hands and kissed his mouth. And his forehead. And every other part of his face available to her. "I just .." Her eyes became glassy again, and she pressed a hard kiss to his mouth to stop herself from crying again. When she'd regained a reasonable amount of control, she gave him a tight little smile and said, "Don't laugh. Ever since we found Annie's body in Marseille, I keep having this waking dream. That one of us is going to get shot somewhere and the other one won't be there. Stupid, right? I know. I _know_ it's stupid but when you got shot in Naples I wasn't there and you could have died Jethro, and .. "

"Have you been helping yourself to my meds?" he asked as he pulled her into a strong embrace.

"I know it's stu - _hey! _I asked you not to laugh .."

"Then stop sayin' funny stuff," he said as he pulled the gauze off his wound, "and help me check this thing. You're scarin' the scuttler with the crazy talk."

Jenny snorted before she could stop herself and, grateful that he had defused the situation, applied herself to the task.

A few minutes later she sat on the edge of the bed next to him.

"Want to sit outside for a while?" she asked.

"And freeze to _death_?"

"Baby!" She slapped him gently on the chest with the back of her hand.

"The scuttler could catch a cold .." Jethro sidled closer to her suggestively.

Jen smiled as she tugged on a few chest hairs. "Is that your way of saying you're done convalescing." she asked. Giving him a knowing look before tweaking one of his nipples a little roughly.

By way of answer he pulled her hand away from his chest and under the sheets.

"Ready to get back into the saddle, huh?" she said as she stood from the bed and slipped out of her clothes.

"Yes ma'am."

"Well then it's time to break out the surprise .." she said with a small smile.

"Bourbon?"

Jen reached into the wardrobe and pulled a bottle out of a bag.

"Avocado oil," she said with a brightness in her eyes that usually meant she was very pleased with herself.

It triggered a little flutter deep inside him – which amplified when Jen gave him an incandescent smile.

The bed dipped under her weight and his eyes rolled back appreciatively at first contact.

The touch was soft but not tentative; they knew each other far too intimately for that. But there was something different about the sensation – which he attributed to the oil. He was used to lubricant, but this was a completely different sensation. The need to be completely skin to skin with her was pretty strong – but impossible to achieve; so although he wanted desperately to be a part of her, he let her take the lead.

He strained against her hand - gasping at a friction he'd grown unaccustomed to over the past week – and suddenly he realized he was out of control. It was like every single nerve he owned was being stimulated at once.

Wrapped tightly in her soft lubricated palm, he didn't stand a chance.

When he had stopped pulsating, he groaned and pulled a pillow over his face.

Jen lifted the edge of the pillowcase and looked down at him.

Clearly waiting for his reaction.

He threw one look back and hoisted himself into sitting position slowly.

As he rested his back against the headboard he patted the space between his legs, and as Jen placed her back against his chest, he cleared his throat.

"I might have taken a bullet a week ago," he whispered conspiratorially into her ear, "but my fingers still work."

* * *

**Author's note:**

Contrary to popular belief, men _love_ having their assets named.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note:**

Some of you will remember the first half of this chapter as a standalone entitled _Stormy Weather_. I've fleshed out the flashback scene from _**Under Covers**_ (Season 3) a little bit and used it to conclude this installment – since I'm pretty certain the preamble shot in that snippet is of Positano.

* * *

**On the balcony of the Hotel Pupetto**

**Positano, Italy**

**Late afternoon on February 8th, 1999**

The robe she had on was totally ineffectual, but Jen relished the icy caress of the wind blowing along the Amalfi coast.

She considered calling Jethro to share the moment, but a glance over her shoulder revealed that he had fallen asleep, and she didn't have the heart to wake him.

The first close clap of thunder would do that soon enough.

She leaned over the railing slightly and closed her eyes; inhaling deeply.

The distinct smell of negatively charged ions assaulted her senses as she let her mind fill with random thoughts of the man asleep inside.

She only stepped backwards when a particularly vicious gust of wind whipped her hair around her face – and almost as though she'd conjured him up, she felt his breath against her skin.

She turned her face towards him and his lips brushed her cheek once. He mumbled something which sounded like a rebuke for being out in inclement weather, but probably wasn't. They shared an affinity for storms – so finding her on the balcony as one brewed was hardly a novelty. Either way, whatever it was he had said was lost in the howl of air rushing around them. So she simply raised her arms and linked her fingers together behind his neck.

Smiling as his arms tightened around her waist in response.

As they watched the approaching storm together, familiar heat slowly spread outwards from his touch - and she was sure she'd never get enough of him touching her. The back of his fingers trailed her ribcage, moving gradually upwards, and her breasts felt swollen and heavy as he brushed their underside. The tactile stimulation was as vivid as the electric storm over the sea and the flutter of satin against her lower body. He suckled gently on the the sensitive flesh of her neck – knowing full well that he was driving her insane.

Slowly.

Her heartbeat lurched as his hands cupped her breasts without warning. His thumbs grazed her peaked nipples, and as she pressed back against the solid wall of warmth he was providing, he strained against her. He nipped an earlobe once before turning her to face him. Brushing his mouth with hers a few times before framing her face and licking the side of her mouth.

She sighed as she felt him bite her lower lip, and as the kiss deepened she moulded her body to his.

Feeling his possessive grip on her hips draw her still closer.

The passion between them generated enough heat to nullify the chill of the weather, and she felt her knees weaken slightly as his lips honed in on the pulse fluttering at her throat.

Lightning streaked across the rapidly darkening sky, and the thunder's quick response told Gibbs that the storm was a lot closer. Without relinquishing his hold, he pulled Jenny away from the railing. Pushing her up against the wall separating them from the adjoining suite before renewing his assault.

He drew the robe apart and ran a flat hand down her right breast before grazing its surface with his teeth.

His face displayed none of the urgency she felt, although the fingers stroking her hip and slipping demandingly between her thighs gave away just how aroused he was. She whimpered as he pushed her to the limits of her endurance; alternating sliding slick digits in and out of her with small circles around her clit.

Making her arch and twitch relentlessly.

Demanding her surrender.

The heavens opened as she clutched at his shoulders. Providing yet another contrast in sensations, and bringing her to the brink of sensory overload.

Light zigzagged ferociously across the sky as she fell apart for him, and the booming thunder didn't quite drown out her moans. But it was the wanton look on her face that made him pin her hard against the wall and nudge her legs apart; no longer willing to hold back. He fumbled with his sweatpants as she pressed herself against him.

Sensing his desperation and more than willing to accommodate him, she wrapped a leg around his. Pulling his sweats the rest of the way down; her head hitting the wall hard as he throbbed against her. Their eyes met briefly as he cupped her buttocks and raised her up.

She saw the hunger she was feeling reflected back at her – along with the depth of passion and feeling she'd come to associate with him in the few months they'd been lovers.

Her mouth fell open against the side of his neck as he pushed into her, and she laved his skin avidly. Savouring the mingle of salt and sweet rainwater. As he rocked them against the wall the fury of the storm whirled around them. Adding to the frenzy the slippery friction between them was creating. The lull between the lightning strikes and the thunder grew shorter and shorter; mimicking the intensity threatening to overwhelm them. Jethro tensed in her arms, his breathing erratic, and she could feel the small pulsating indicators deep inside heralding the advent of her second orgasm. Adrenaline pulsed through them both as he stroked her, and shudders rippled across his shoulders and down his back as the heat of release undid them both.

She slipped to the ground, and they stood in each other's arms without talking. As in tune with the elements as they were with each other as the rain splattered against them and cooled down their overheated flesh.

"Jenny .." he said softly a short while later.

"Hmm?"

"If you still want to go to dinner we need to make tracks," he said as he nodded towards the sliding doors on the balcony.

Jen nodded.

Casting one last lingering glance at the churning waters below before following him inside.

"What?" she asked a few moments later. Feeling the heat of his gaze as she slipped into her skirt.

"You still have one more .."

It wasn't even a question.

"God.." Jen leant against the nearest wall and shook her head. "How do you _always know_?"

Gibbs smiled and moved in close.

"I pay attention," he said with a smirk in his voice. "So .." His tongue traced the outline of her ear and a hand slipped between her thighs. "Do you?"

"I'm so tempted to say _no_ just to wipe that smug look off your face, Jethro," she said with a sigh. "But yes .. I do."

Gibbs' eyes lit up as his hand meandered suggestively.

"That mean we're skipping straight to dessert?" he whispered in her ear.

The sound of Jenny's laughter echoed through the room.

"Not a chance," she said as she encouraged his hand. "It just means you're on the clock."

* * *

**The hotel restaurant, an hour later ..**

Gibbs shrugged inside his striped shirt and suit jacket; grateful for the fact that Jenny had insisted a tie wasn't necessary.

He'd only had half a glass of the Chianti perched on the table in its straw basket, but he could feel the effects already. Ordinarily it might have bothered him, but he'd been on heavy meds for a while, this was the closest he'd come to alcohol in two weeks and, to be honest, it made him feel like he fit right in.

The room was bathed in the light from the small hurricane lamps on the tables, and all around them couples were trading sweet nothings in hushed whispers. Jen smiled at him as she held her glass of wine aloft – and for a moment he reconsidered his decision not to tell her about Shannon and Kelly.

The second or third day after their arrival in Positano, he'd given serious though to telling her. Lying in bed with nothing to do except wait to heal, he'd wanted very much to tell her. To make sure that there were no secrets between them. Nothing that could come as a hurtful surprise down the road.

As the days had blended into one another and he hadn't made his move, however, he'd started to tell himself that he didn't want to burden her with the knowledge. And her very vocal fears about death had only consolidated his feeling that not telling her was okay.

And yet here he was again.

Having an internal debate.

Second guessing himself.

Part of him knowing that not telling her wasn't fair to her; that she deserved to know something so important, since she was herself important to him.

Part of him rebelling against the gut feeling because he was in a good place and wanted to stay there.

For the first time in several years he was feeling vital.

Alive.

Ready, able, and willing to love.

Jen's gentle beauty and kindness made him appreciate the finer things in life. Some things he had been aware of, some he had not – and he never knew from one day to the next what she would come up with.

It was part of the joy of being with her.

She made him want to live in the moment. Something neither of his ex-wives had ever managed to do.

More than that, however, he knew he didn't want to see the look of sympathy or empathy in her eyes that he had seen in theirs. Didn't want to populate their relationship with ghosts from his past that she wouldn't be able to do anything about.

He didn't want to spoil the intimacy for her – or for himself.

She made him happy - and he wanted nothing to threaten that.

It was just the two of them – especially here where nobody knew them - and he liked that just fine.

"You're smiling ..." she said. Breaking into his thoughts as she picked a sundried tomato off his plate and held it towards him.

Jethro laughed a little self-consciously.

"Are you going to tell me or am I going to have to set Pat on you?"

They laughed out loud at that, and Jethro felt warmth suffuse him.

Sure he was making the right decision, he took her hand and wrapped it around his.

"Thank you," he murmured as he raised her knuckles to his lips.

Jen's eyes widened fractionally .. and then turned softer than he had ever seen them. There was a long moment of silence before she said, "dare I ask what for?"

Trying to condense all the emotions running through him into words that made sense was harder than he expected - and ultimately there was only one thing he _could_ say.

"For being you."


End file.
